


Bloodied Hands

by noveltea



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-10
Updated: 2010-07-10
Packaged: 2017-10-10 11:50:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noveltea/pseuds/noveltea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Without thinking she channelled all the rage and anger that had built up over the last months, years really, into her fist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloodied Hands

The sun shining brightly overhead was almost cruel.

Deanna rolled over and cursed audibly as the light streamed through the blinds hitting her sleep-sensitive eyes. The lack of response told her Sam was out, God knew where (or maybe He didn't, given their recent information), and that was okay by her. The days since Anna's return to grace had been an uncomfortable mix of shame and disbelief on both sides, and she wasn't sure she could handle another pitying look from her younger brother right now.

She didn't want his pity.

She didn't deserve it, nor did she deserve absolution. What she'd done in Hell had been beyond forgivable, and it ate away at her soul. Slowly, day by day.

She'd told Sam only because it had become too much, but she would have given anything to spare him from the story. Anything.

Kicking off the flimsy covers of the too-soft bed in another nameless motel, Deanna took a deep breath, trying to suppress the mounting frustration she felt inside her. She wanted to scream, but she wasn't going to give in to that little satisfaction.

The memories of the angels, or Anna, and the demons still haunted her. She'd taken some measure of comfort in the knowledge that Anna's last act in her human form had been to rid the world of Alastair. She had to believe that he was really gone. It was important.

Her reflection in the stained mirror was a different person than she remembered. A cursory glance didn't reveal any different features; she still had green eyes in the same spot on her face and brown hair that flowed down her back and was in dire need of brushing. Her eyes told another story.

The screams of thousands blended into one terrible sound, alien and inhuman.

Outside the bathroom window she could hear the sounds of cars driving down the road. She could pick out the individual sounds, the individual cars.

The world had been nothing but black and white and blood red. Red ran everywhere, drenching everything it touched until finally it was all she could see. Hot and sticky and cloying.

The memories flashed before her eyes and she couldn't hold in her frustration any longer. Without thinking she channelled all the rage and anger that had built up over the last months, years really, into her fist. The mirrored glass that shattered around her was inconsequential, and the blood the flowed from her cut hand didn't even register.

She was sitting on the cold bathroom tiles when he found her, her eyes red.

She didn't look up to acknowledge him. "Don't you ever knock?" she asked scathingly.

Castiel stood in the doorway, looking down at her, and wasn't that just fucking typical. "You wouldn't have let me in."

"Yeah, you think there might be a reason for that?"

He ignored her jibe. "Your hand is bleeding."

She laughed; she couldn't help it. "No shit, Sherlock," she replied. Finally, she looked up through bed-hair and anger. "What do you want? I don't have any more fallen angels stuffed in the closet if that's what you're after."

He watched her, silent as ever. It had been creepy the first time they'd met, and it hadn't gotten any better over time. He didn't reply to her words, just stood there, still as a fucking statue.

Deanna was ready to snap when Castiel held out a hand to her. He didn't say anything, just a silent offer of help. It was better that way; she would have refused had he spoken. Maybe he was learning.

He was silent leverage as she pulled herself up with her good hand. She didn't know how to say thank you, not for something as simple as this. Besides, she was still furious at the angel for his recent actions, even if she knew, deep down, that he was only following orders. He'd once compared the both of them, finding similarities in their duty to follow their father's orders. She hadn't wanted to hear it at the time, but she couldn't find fault in his comparison.

The pain in her right hand crept in at the edges of her mind, and she couldn't quite meet Castiel's not-quite-human stare.

"I think you've spent too much time amongst humans, Cas," she said. "That was downright helpful."

He nodded his head, taking her words as a 'thank you' even if she hadn't meant it that way. "I admit, it has been enlightening to watch humans in human form," he told her, even as she moved passed him, through the doorway and back into the main room. Her bed had been closest to the bathroom, and the backpack she'd so careless thrown on the floor the previous night hadn't moved. She used her good hand to unzip it and dig out clean bandages and disinfectant. The cuts weren't deep enough to require stitches.

All the while he watched her, watched her actions and her decisions, and she waiting for a lecture. Sam would have started spouting it the second he saw what she'd done in the bathroom – hell, he would start spouting it when he got back.

When he got back. She looked up at Castiel. "I don't suppose you know where Sam is?"

"Not far," he replied. "Eating breakfast and searching for your next job."

She blinked. "So you're not just stalking me now, huh?" She was lousy with a pair of tweezers in her left hand, but there was a stubborn shard still buried in her skin and it had to go. She winced when her hand slipped on the tweezers, pinching her skin. "You still haven't told me what you're doing here," she said through gritted teeth. Like it not, he was about to become her verbal punching bag if he decided to stick around.

"Anna wasn't correct when she said that we didn't know how to feel."

Deanna snorted. "Yeah, right."

The mattress shifted beneath her as the angel sat beside her on the bed. "Anna made her choice; I know no more than that."

"Did you find her?" And smite her? But she left that question unspoken.

Castiel shook his head. "No. My orders were that she was to die as a human. She's no longer human, and my orders no longer apply."

"That's incredibly comforting," Deanna snapped sarcastically, removing the small shard of mirror and letting it, and the tweezers, drop to the carpet. She unravelled the bandage, but stopped when she felt warmth spread through her bleeding hand. "What-?"

She looked down, surprised to see both of Castiel's hands covering hers, the warmth spreading up her arm. He didn't look at her face, just at their hands. She didn't know what she expected an angel to feel like, even an angel taking up residence inside a human body.

When he moved his hands away, her hand was whole. Healed. No trace of the tiny cuts that had been there moments before. The pain was gone as well, but the blood remained, some of it on the angel's hands as well.

She looked down, as if watching her hands could make them stop shaking, but all she could see was the blood that covered them from fingertips to elbows and higher. The blood of others, of innocents…

Deanna jerked back, away from Castiel.

"I'm sorry."

He sounded like he meant it, but she didn't know what to believe anymore.

"Why did you bring me back?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper. "And don't give me that crap about orders from the man upstairs and having work for me to do. Humans are replaceable. The things that I-" The words caught in her throat and she looked away from the angel sitting so calmly on the edge of the bed.

She used to think that the nightmares she'd had were bad, but they were nothing compared to her memories. The same memories that took the place of nightmares, no matter whether she was asleep or awake. She had the blood of innocent people on her hands and she'd been broken. Nothing she could do would ever make up for what she had done.

It ate away at her soul, piece by piece.

"The answers that I gave you were all true."

Her hands clenched into fists. "They don't help."

Castiel leaned in close, and his eyes were startling blue and filled with the fire of conviction and knowledge beyond her own comprehension. "You still don't believe you deserved to be saved?"

The answer caught in her throat, her mouth dry. "No," she whispered. His look was uncomprehending, and he stepped back. "No. You know what I did down there. How could I possibly believe I deserved to be saved?"

"What happened to you in Hell," Castiel started, deliberating on his words, as though choosing them carefully. Choosing the words that would mean something to her. "It wasn't of your making. You have a purpose here, now, to the people you have spent your life trying to save."

She could only stare back, wordless. The air was heavy with his words, and they pressed down around her. "Who are you, and what have you done with Castiel?"

He frowned. He didn't understand.

"Are you sure you haven't been spending too much time around humans?"

Castiel's frown faded into understanding, and she could have sworn amusement flickered into his eyes. He bowed his head slightly, keeping his gaze locked on her own defiant eyes. "Perhaps." The corner of his mouth twitched up into a smile; it was a nice smile. Comforting, and compassionate – what anyone would expect from an angel. "You are capable of great things, Deanna, and of great good."

She lowered her eyes, and the second she did she knew he would be gone the next time she looked up.

He always left with more questions unanswered, and left her questioning herself and her own beliefs. His reluctance to share information left her wondering how much he knew.

They shared a common goal, a desire to save people.

And as often as she thought he was a sanctimonious prick, she had to remember that for whatever reason he had faith that she was important to stopping the breaking of the seals. He knew what she'd done, and he hadn't stared at her with hate or disgust, or pity.

She didn't have his faith, but she had to believe that he thought what they were doing was right.

She would never wish what she had experienced on anyone.

Not if she could stop it.


End file.
